


A World of Firsts

by spookydunmer



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7434427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookydunmer/pseuds/spookydunmer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eric experiences all of his firsts with Jack. A collection of ramblings and oneshots. May change the rating later, but any warnings needed will be in the author's notes at the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impression

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be honest with all y'all, I ain't written anything in about a year and a half, so I'm very rusty, and very terrible. Please be gentle.

Jack Zimmermann was, quite honestly, _terrifying_.

Eric had shown up to his first hockey practice with a warm pie, his special pecan with caramel he had boiled and babysat for four hours, actually making friends and pretending that the villainous way his new teammates handled his pastry wasn’t in any way offensive, when he had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Jack didn’t even touch the pie, looking at it like Eric might as well have filled it with spiders. Eric was already small for a hockey player, but he could feel himself shrinking under Jack’s ice-cold gaze; he could already see the face of the linebacker that had shoved him into the supply closet in this man's scowl. 

“Number one, dietary restrictions.” he’d said, and had launched into an hour-long tirade on how “his team” and “his players” followed “his rules,” _especially_ about food, all the while surrounded by pie-munching freshman who couldn't feel the tension between freshie and captain. Eric felt himself flush from his shoulders to the tips of his ears. If God decided his embarrassment was too much and was merciful enough to strike him down then and there, he decided he wouldn’t really mind. 

He also didn’t really mind staring at Jack, either. Even with his angry bitch face. Hell, Eric could appreciate a nice scowl, especially on a jaw that square, with the slightest shade of stubble. He had a long, gaunt nose and short brown hair with just the right amount of curl. He would have to do something about those bangs, though; too N’Sync for Eric’s taste. And his personality, it seemed. 

“And Bittle?”

Eric jumped at hearing his name. He immediately tucked his hands behind his back, wondering seconds later why he was trying to hide something he didn’t have. “Y-yes?” He hoped he hadn’t been caught staring. Or hadn’t not answered a question directed at him.

“This isn’t figure-skating anymore. You need to bulk up.”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

Jack narrowed his eyes, massive arms crossing over an even more massive chest. “Eat more protein.”

Eric had to make a conscious effort not to scowl right back at him.

Shitty, one of the upperclassman and the forward on the team, was right by Eric’s side as soon as practice ended. Jack was currently answering questions from other freshmen, giving the two men a bit of privacy.

“Look, Bitty, Itsy-Bitsy, Little Bittle.” Shitty had begun, slinging one arm around Eric’s neck and holding his empty, and sticky, pie pan in the air. “Kibbles n’ Bits. You can’t take Zimmermann one hundred percent seriously.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Yeah,” he continued, ignoring Eric’s question. “You try to please him all the time, you’re gonna drive yourself into an early grave, my friend. Too much stress. Too much pressure. Play the game, listen to the coaches.” Shitty shook him a little. “A little more protein wouldn’t hurt you, though.”

Eric swallowed his pride and thanked him.


	2. First Slice

Eric had met a challenge with the frat house (excuse him: _Haus_ ) kitchen. It was always dirty, he had no room for his ingredients, even fewer utensils than back home, the oven broke about 78% of the time, and yet he was still able to churn out pies like a damned machine. Did you know an empty Absolut vodka bottle was the best one to use as a makeshift rolling pin until an actual pin could be acquired? Eric sure did.

He was using that brand new rolling pin to flatten out leftover dough for mini pies, his tins laid out all nice and neat on the island as his new teammates were eying his cooling rhubarb and strawberry like they were going to mug it. 

And in walked Jack Zimmermann, dripping sweat from his routine evening jog around campus.

Jack was something of an enigma to Eric. Everything he knew about the man, he had heard secondhand from other people, mostly Shitty. He knew Jack was Canadian, like Ransom; he knew Jack's father was Bad Bob Zimmermann, and that Jack was slightly famous himself simply because of that; and he knew that his default facial expression was usually an icy scowl. Shitty claimed that the man knew how to smile, but Eric was waiting to see it before he believed it. Shitty also said his middle name was Laurent. _That_ , Eric believed. 

That icy scowl in question was directed first at his pie, the aroma making its merry way through the first floor of the Haus, and then it was trained on him. Jack's hands rested lightly on his hips.

"Today isn't a cheat day." he scolded, still somewhat winded from his run.

"C'mon, Jack." Holster argued, slinging an arm around Ransom's neck. "We haven't even tried this flavor before. Bitty’s doing something new! We have to support our teammates in _all_ of their endeavors, don’t we? What kind of brothers are we if we just say ‘no, Bitty, you can’t cook for us because the Abominable Zimmermann said so.’ You can’t stop a bro like that, bro."

Eric smiled, both at his support and the use of his new nickname. He wasn't quite used to it yet, but "Bitty" was growing on him.

"Brah." Shitty cut in, holding up a finger. "It's one slice. Not gonna kill us."

"Just one?" 

"Scouts' honor." Ransom and Holster promised in unison, placing their hands over their hearts. Given that his arm was still around his friend’s neck, Holster had his elbow tucked into his side to achieve this.

"Fine. But an extra two laps around the rink tomorrow at practice for every slice you eat. One of those--" he pointed to the mini pies Eric was constructing “--counts as one.”

"Fuck yeah!" Shitty crowed before grabbing the pie from its place on the cooling rack. Jack said nothing, simply walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Eric watched him go, feeling just a little bit guilty. He didn't even like rhubarb enough to have Jack mad at him for it. 

His teammates, however, seemed to enjoy it.

Eric cleaned the kitchen, top to bottom, scrubbing inside of Betsy carefully, and closed the last miniature pie in a plastic container and stored it on the top shelf of the fridge, wondering how, in a frat house filled to the brim with men, they allowed just a single pastry to be untouched. He supposed someone would sneak it away later. He was actually hoping they would, so he wouldn't come home to a reminder that Jack was angry at him for encouraging delinquent behavior from his team.

 

The next morning Bitty was lacing his skates slowly as Jack went over drills and plays with some of the other boys. He was taking care to avoid his captain’s gaze as he did so. Once his laces were tied and his helmet was strapped on correctly, he quickly joined the others on the ice. Each practice started out with twenty laps around the rink, plus the subsequent two for anyone having consumed Eric’s apparently illegal products. Having had a slice himself, he passed by the boys grouping in the middle. He, Ransom, Holster, Shitty, and Johnson kept skating. 

Surprisingly, so did Jack.

Eric wondered if it was a captain thing, riding out punishments even when he doled them himself. However, when they huddled, Ransom knocked his shoulder and gave him a grin. Holster was leaning around him, wagging his eyebrows. Eric wanted to ask what they were doing, but one look from Jack had him back at attention. Still….

_There’s no way_.

By the end of practice, Eric still had two hours before his first class. Instead of following his fellow teammates to campus, Eric made a quick stop at the Haus. He threw the door open and made his way to the kitchen, ignoring Ransom’s chirps about his pies and how sore his legs were. Eric threw the door of the fridge wide open, nearly toppling over empty beer bottles in the door. 

The mini pie was gone.


	3. First Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, y'all, so much has happened over the past couple of weeks. The summer semester is drawing to a close, and as of this Monday I took the most important test of my life (and passed with flying colors!!!) and I've got the second-biggest coming up in a couple days. I still wanted to post something anyway in case anyone's actually reading this fic. 
> 
> Based partially on the extra Ngozi drew and partially the fact that I and a Canadian friend of mine literally spent two hours last time we Skyped with a list of words comparing and arguing about pronunciation.

“Peek-in.”

“Peh-kawn.”

“Peek-in.”

“ _Peh-kawn_.”

“Someone stop them. Please.” Holster begged weakly, making no attempts to settle the argument himself. Bitty could only see one bare leg thrown over the back of the couch to indicate where he was in the living room. “Shitty! Jack and Bits are fighting!”

“Again,” came Ransom’s soft addition, most likely from the floor in front of Holster. 

“I don’t care how it's pronounced. I just want to eat it.” Lardo chimed in from the windowsill, never taking her eyes off of her nails. 

“ _I_ care.” Eric argued, and looked back at Jack. He didn't care how attractive the other man was, he was not going to win this argument. He knew it was petty, but there was a little validation in Jack’s being just as insistent on his (wrong) pronunciation. “You don't even like my pecan pie. So why do you?”

“I never said I didn't like it. It's just not in my diet. And because you’re wrong.” 

“ _Jack. Laurent. Zimmermann._ I know you are not smirking at me right now.”

“Ooh, Bitty broke out the full name. You’re in for it, Jack.” 

“All right, children. What seems to be the problem?” Shitty walked into the kitchen wearing only a criminally short and tight pair of briefs and a frown underneath his moustache. 

“Something about pecans.”

“ _Oh my God_ , Jack, really?!” Eric slammed Betsy’s door shut, then cracked it open again just slightly to make sure he hadn't accidentally destroyed his pie. “One: _uh-bowt_. Two: _peh-kawn_. Three: Shitty, remove him from my sight before I lose my mind. The kitchen is my safe area. No chirping allowed.”

“The wifi in my room blinks out all the time.” Jack argued.

“Bits, I know he’s seen that documentary exactly twelve times, but he's right. The wifi in his room is terrible.”

“Man, we can't even get wifi in ours,” Holster announced from the couch. 

“And Jack, you know Bits practically lives in our kitchen. Got himself a lil blanket in the cupboard down there, I’d bet.”

“Really, Bittle?” Jack actually almost laughed. Eric didn't think it was possible, and he certainly didn’t want to be proven wrong when it was at his expense. 

“Shitty, you're not helping.”

“Ah, ah! Not done.” Shitty held up a finger to quiet them both. He paused, making sure he wasn't going to be interrupted again. “It doesn't matter who says it how, anyway. Colloquial differences and all that. What matters is whether or not we get to eat it.”

“Thank you!” Lardo called.


	4. First Checking Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My take on Jack and Bitty's first checking practice. Canon divergent, obvi.

Eric didn’t care what his clock said, what most of the free world said, or even what Jack Zimmermann said. If the sun wasn’t up, the day didn’t start. Yet here he was, at 4:27 in the goddamn morning, slowly trudging his way to Faber through his own fatigue and the seventeen degree chill in the air. Above his training clothes, Eric had on a toboggan, a hoodie, a windbreaker, a heavier coat with a fur lining, and a pair of gloves one of his aunties had knitted him before the start of the semester. The damned Canadian was in only a t-shirt, his skates swinging lightly over his shoulder.

The rink itself was only marginally warmer than the air outside. Being inside Faber this early in the morning felt surreal, even as Jack turned on the lights, the electricity humming before nearly blinding Eric. He sent Eric to the locker room to gear up; in the cold, he moved slowly, pulling on his armor before shimmying himself into his jersey. He made a mental note to stop by a supply store and grab some plywood to board his door before Jack poked his head around his dormitory again.

“We’ll start with some laps.”

Without his usual padding, Jack’s grace on the ice was even more pronounced, every move smooth, easy; Eric had always thought the phrase “rippling muscles” as cheesy, but he couldn’t think of another way to describe the way Jack’s body moved, muscle groups tensing, relaxing, emphasizing parts of his teammate Eric had tried really, really hard not to notice. He moved easily, like a fish through water, as he pushed his blades forward to warm himself up. Eric didn’t realize he’d been staring until Jack was halfway across the ice. 

He quickly caught up, however; a quip about Jack’s speed was ready on his tongue, when suddenly Jack was moving closer, and then crashed into him, tapping him into the boards at the edge of the ice. Every muscle in his body froze, his chirp died in his throat, and Eric shrunk, until he was nothing but a ball curled up, traveling across the ice. He heard the scrape of Jack braking behind him.

“Get up,” he ordered.

“F-f-f-f-f-f--” Eric spat at him, unable to stop himself from stuttering. He hoped it was the cold and not the sudden fear of his captain, all six feet and one inch of him standing over Eric, hands on his hips. Eric abandoned his attempts to curse his captain, straightening himself to his full height, not that it meant much; he couldn't intimidate the other man if he tried. “What the _hell_ , Jack?!”

“I didn't even come at you that hard, or that fast.” he scolded, seemingly ignoring Eric’s rage. “And you're in full gear. I shouldn't be a threat to you.”

And yet here you are, he wanted to say, and bit down on his tongue instead. 

“What is this?” He threw his hands out, gesturing toward Bitty. “It's a hindrance.”

“I’m trying, Jack.”

“Then try harder.”

“You think I’m doing this on _purpose_?” Eric flung his helmet off, cheeks and neck burning with humiliation and anger. It was a wonder the ice around him didn't begin to melt. He was only just resisting the urge to hit Jack as he studied him carefully. Eric didn't care about the half a foot difference between them anymore; he was ready for a fight. 

“Of course not.”

As soon as Eric had flooded with anger, he deflated. Rage had been replaced with confusion, and he knew it was written on his face, because Jack explained, “You’re a great player, Bittle. You’re fast, you’re a team player, but when it comes to physicality, you shut down. You become a weakness. And we can't protect you during games.”

Eric resisted the urge to lower his head. 

“So if this, if checking is your only problem, we’re going to work it out.”

Eric didn't know what to say. He knew Jack was thinking of the welfare of team, not Eric personally, and yet he was touched. Jack was using his personal time just to help Eric when he could have been improving himself. Hockey robot or not, he wanted Eric to succeed. He couldn't just throw something like that away.

“It won't be easy,” he warned, skating a couple feet away to retrieve his helmet. “We’re talking about years of work to undo.”

“Then we better get started.” There was something unreadable in Jack’s expression. If Eric turned his head and squinted an eye, he could almost make out the ghost of a smile. “Little League game starts at 7.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know this one was super short, but honestly I couldn't think of how to make it longer. Like I said, I'm a little out of practice. Anywho, I'm writing a bunch more of these, but if there's a situation you'd like to see I am totes open to any ideas. Let me know over on my tumblr (same username).


End file.
